


Noon and Eventide

by A_French_Ship



Series: My ignorance of the simplest things [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: After Le Chiffre, Alternate Universe, Book: Casino Royale, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Young James Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_French_Ship/pseuds/A_French_Ship
Summary: Deauville, 1922.They could not have waited, Vesper and he. As soon as he had been cleared from the hospital, they had driven along the Norman coast, stopping every now and then to swim and sunbathe, their fingers interlaced in the fresh water of the Channel.“Let’s marry,” James had blurted in the car as they were driving to Deauville.
Relationships: James Bond/Vesper Lynd
Series: My ignorance of the simplest things [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526726
Kudos: 5





	Noon and Eventide

_Deauville, 1922._

They could not have waited. Not after what had happened in Royale-les-Eaux. Or with Le Chiffre. For a splitting moment James had thought he would die in that large bare room, in the hands of that dreadful Mediterranean man. For a splitting moment he had remembered the terror in the trench, the sharp pain of a blade tearing his skin apart, the warmth of Alec’s laboured breath in his neck, every sensation overwhelming his senses at the same time.

They could not have waited, Vesper and he. As soon as he had been cleared from the hospital, they had driven along the Norman coast, stopping every now and then to swim and sunbathe, their fingers interlaced in the fresh water of the Channel. Late at night, there was nothing but the sound of their hearts beating in unison filling the room they shared despite their renting two.

“Let’s marry,” James had blurted in the car as they were driving to Deauville. Vesper had opened a wide mouth, both shocked and amused. “Let’s marry you and I,” he had repeated, more unsure now that the young woman had left a couple of silent seconds passing between them.

“Oh, James,” she had whispered, her eyes filling with tears. James didn’t know women cried like that, James thought he would make Vesper happy. “So, so foolish.” There had been more tears running down her cheeks, messing with her carefully applied make-up.

“Why foolish?” he had asked, suddenly more on the defensive. His eyes reverted to the road before them, his hands gripping the wheel with more strength. He had not expected rejection from her. She had always been so welcoming to him, so eager to give herself entirely to him, that James had thought they wanted the same thing.

“It’s not foolish of you, it’s foolish of _me_ ,” she had explained, chuckling mirthlessly. Some clear snot had run down her cupid’s bow, clinging to her upper-lip – James had found it genuinely breath-taking how free of petty preoccupations she could be. “We’re going so fast, but I’m so in love with you.”

Two days later, James was in Deauville, in his hotel room. This time Vesper had insisted on them having different quarters so they wouldn’t run into each other before the ceremony. It wasn’t much of a ceremony. Vesper had told James her parents had died during the war and James had no one to invite either. There would be two people in the church to serve as witnesses, but James couldn’t be happier about the anonymity, the swiftness of the whole affair – it resembled a successfully led mission.

How happy they would be, he thought with a small smirk as his icy blue eyes scanned his room and fell on the grey suit spread on the bedding. He had bought it the day prior, in a fashionable boutique in Deauville with the little money he had earned at the casino, that is to say the little amount of money the SIS had allowed him to keep as a way to prepare his repatriation. After the Le Chiffre disaster, James had assumed he could indulge himself some free time at the King’s expense before heading back to England. M had not tried to reach him, so James concluded she was not against it either – not that it would have stopped him, far from it.

Would he even go back to England one day? That country was dead to him. Now that he had Vesper, he couldn’t think of a single thing that kept him attached to his Majesty’s secret services. There was no sense of duty anymore. There wouldn’t ever be anyone waiting for him there. Alec was gone. Alec had died a year before in Eastern Europe when one of their missions had turned sour.

What were duty and honour now that his own country had dismissed Alec, had let him down?

James chuckled lowly in his bedroom, because Alec would’ve laughed at him for putting his head in a noose so quickly. _Engaged? Him? James Bond?_ He guessed so. James knew deep down that he wouldn’t have rushed into marriage had Alec still been there with him. His love for Alec would’ve prevented him from considering being serious with anyone else but him.

Everything had been unspoken, of course. And they would always be for now Alec wasn’t part of this world anymore. Yet outlived the feeling that he was betraying him somehow.

James needed to forget.

He still had three hours before thinking about dressing up and joining Vesper in the hotel hall. Then they would head to the church and later on travel down to Italy, where he would send his resignation letter to the SIS, leaving King and country behind, starting anew. He would use the little money his parents had left on a Swiss bank account to buy a small house on the Mediterranean coast and he would change his name and find a job.

James sighed in contentment, strangely at peace, as if nothing could affect him anymore. Was it what people called bliss, happiness, love? That was a very different kind of love, a different kind of sensation than the one which had overwhelmed him when he had been in Alec’s arms. Sometimes he wondered if he had been mistaking the whole time and that his feelings for his fallen friend had been nothing but a strong sense of brotherhood. James, so deprived of love since his parents’ death, had misunderstood his own heart. Could it have been so?

On his way to the bar of the hotel, where he planned on relaxing before the grand moment, the burial of his soulless life as an agent, James observed the many couples meandering in summer garments, pleasantly smoking on balconies, pale carnations in ladies’ hands, fashionable straw boaters on men’s head. It was a nice day in Deauville.

“Mister Bond,” greeted the barman with his thick French accent which made some of his interventions sometimes undecipherable.

“Pierre,” James replied, nodding at the thirty-year-old smartly moustached man behind the counter.

“What will it be for you today, sir?”

James couldn’t but smile at the roaring Rs and the self-aware smirk the French man sported as his clumsy English escaped his lips. “A martini,” he ordered.

“Shaken, not stirred,” Pierre remembered, almost winking at his client. Perhaps James had indulged himself way too many drinks of the same kind the night before. Hitherto Pierre had always been in collusion, were it because he was paid to do so or because their common youth made them naturally conniving.

As Pierre busied himself behind the counter, James took a seat, his eyebrows furrowing when his backside touched the wood of the tall stool. In spite of his going out of hospital a week prior, there were wounds, maybe invisible, that would never cease to hurt. He believed a part of his manhood had died in the hands of Le Chiffre. The practical part of the agent had tried, while alone in his room at night, to catalogue the welfare of his vital functions, just to see the extent of the aftermaths of Le Chiffre’s torture. The pain had been excruciating.

He had not told Vesper yet, for the young lady had assured several times that he would recover with ‘time and patience’, but he was almost certain that he would never be able to conceive again. He had tried to tell her, but a selfish instinct didn’t want her to leave. Did they really need a baby when they already loved each other so much?

“Mister Bond?” came the maître d’hôtel’s voice, hauling James out of his wandering thoughts. He noticed only then that Pierre had slid his martini close to his hands without disturbing him.

“Yes?” He blinked, looking at the old man who had just presented himself to him, an ivory envelop resting on the saucer-like tray he held in one hand.

“This is for you,” he told James with the distinctive obsequiousness which characterised maîtres d’hôtel.

Thanking him under his breath, he took the note which bore no indication of its addressee or addresser. Pierre gave him a surprised look, intrigued by the sudden disruption in James’s relaxed behaviour. The blond’s eyebrows were furrowed as a hint of worry passed through his features. Who could it be except the SIS claiming their dues?

All in all the little holiday-maker masquerade was an act James wasn’t willing to break, so he simply took his glass of martini in one hand and the letter in the other, conforming to the casual attitude that was expected from clients of such classy establishments.

Opening the envelop, he encountered Vesper’s handwriting.

‘ _My darling James,_

_I love you with all my heart and while you read these words I hope you still love me because, now, with these words, this is the last moment that your love will last._

_I daresay your affection for me blinded you in so many ways. There are certain things about me that you underestimated, James, but I cannot keep them at bay any longer. My missions aren’t only limited to the Crown. I believe that was a youthful error of mine which started this series of lies and flights. There is another man, James, and so many secrets. Now they are after me and, although I haven’t been fully honest with you, I’m sincere when I tell you that I don’t want to expose you to any more men like Le Chiffre._

_For a moment I hoped we would be happy and able to start again somewhere. Jamaica? But they followed us. You can’t simply get away from them._

_I cannot do what we are about to do. I cannot do that to you, this is the ultimate proof of my love. I must leave now. You know what it feels like, we both know what it feels like, to always be on the run._

_You cannot save my life this time._

_My love, my love._

_V._ ’

Suddenly his glass of martini felt too heavy in his hand and James put it down on the bar without taking a sip of it, which did not escape Pierre’s watchful eyes. For a minute, James could not feel anything outside the strange sensation in his chest, as though something already so narrow and fragile was being squeezed by gigantic talons. He couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or if life had suddenly been swallowed by one of his most dreadful daydreams. His look was fixed at the content of his glass, his thoughts momentarily subjugated by the crystalline reflection of his drink on the table and the mesmerising dance of the olive finally coming to a stop.

Only at that moment did the young man start to think about how oblivious he had been to the clouds hiding behind blue eyes, how foolish he had been, yes indeed, foolish. He remembered the turns of phrase he had thought of using in his resignation letter to the SIS, all the formulaic apologies and the sly undertones. He thought about Italy, about a balcony overlooking the sea, Vesper, ethereal in the morning, vying with Gainsborough’s portraits of ladies; and everything that remained –and did remain for a long time - was a stoic silence.

**Author's Note:**

> The letter Vesper sends James is partially inspired by the canon letter she sends him in Ian Fleming’s Casino Royale.  
> Also this fic is part of a WHOLE series (what are you waiting for?) Check it out! I've just published chapter 9 a few days ago!  
> Thanks for reading! ;)


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